There’s a Stephen King book (and movie) called “Thinner” – and I’m going to ruin them both for you right now. Basically, a fat, shitty – and by shitty I mean “he was a bad person” – lawyer runs over a gypsy woman and her family curses him by saying “Thinner.” And then he begins to lose weight in a fast and scary manner to the point where he is literally skin and bones and desperate to find a way to reverse things.
And in a way, I feel like that’s what’s happening to me. Only it’s my fault, and not some gypsy’s – even though I’d really like to blame it on the Architect (who has been treating me like his BFF, lately – even going so far to say that he’d want me as his “best man” if he ever gets married).
When things spiral beyond my control, I seek to get that control back. When I was in high school and college, I was riding horses all the time, so I could control some big 1200 pound animal with my hands, legs and voice, and that took care of things. It allowed me to exert control over something much bigger than myself and kept me sane.
And now? I don’t have the money to go riding anymore – so I don’t have my outlet and feel like everything in life (job, money, boys, family, friends) is so far out of reach that there is nothing I can do to influence it.
So I control me. More specifically, I control what I eat, or rather, what I don’t eat. I eat enough during the day to keep me energized. I eat enough that I’m not keeling over from hunger pangs. But I rarely eat actual lunch anymore, and my breakfast is usually coffee.
For a while I thought it wasn’t on purpose. That stress had effectively killed my appetite, but it isn’t true. It’s not the stress, it’s me. And I’ve been doing it on purpose. If I’m distracted, and out with friends – I’ll eat like a horse (a few of you bloggers can attest to this). But by myself? Fuck that.
Is this healthy? No.
Is it fixable? Yes.
Is it scary? Absolutely yes. Means my mind is a lot more fucked than previously imagined.
Am I at an extreme point? No. I’ve dropped some pounds but am not at an unhealthy weight.
Does writing it down here make it that much more real? Yes.
Does the realness force me to examine and do something about it? Yes.
And by the way…
I wrote this for me. Not to freak anyone out. This is not a cry for help, this is a statement of accountability to myself and to my friends. It means that I’m not keeping my little food secret anymore, and it means that I have to do something about it.
And hello, I HAVE to do something about it. I love food. I’ve just been avoiding it, and it’s something I need to fix.



